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Something catches in my throat. Hearing this aloud, my parents distinguishing me from Aprilette, the one wish I thought would never come true, makes me wonder if I’m dreaming.

“We texted them to your Tito, Titas, and cousins.” My dad shuffles to my friendship photograph. “We told them these are yours, and we’re proud.”

There’s another catch in my throat. “You are?”

“Ohoh, very proud. I guess we were afraid that you’d fall in love with photography the way Amado fell in love with animation. It’s so much harder to find a job in the arts. Maybe that’s why we didn’t say much when you talked about your pictures. We were scared we’d guide you to a path that was more difficult to achieve.”

“So, you don’t think I’m a child with no utang na loob?” I ask.

Their eyebrows soar to their hairlines.

“Anak, we could never think that,” my mom says. “It’s an honor having you as our daughter.”

“You help us cook, you eat dinner with us, and so many other things,” my dad adds, “We know you’re grateful.”

A lump lodges in my throat, and I try, with little effort, to swallow it down. They love me. They always have, always will.

“I thought your Atè didn’t want us around anymore. She’s so independent. But seeing this picture,” my mom says, holding up my love photograph, “I know she misses us, too.”

They study my photo again, then lean closer to me.

“Anak, your photographs,” my mom begins, “they’re beautiful.”

I feel a squeeze in my throat. Tears pool around my eyes.

“You took these yourself?” my dad says.

Hearing this hits me like a camera flash, capturing the moment, all the eye-catching details locked in focus. They finally see me.

“I did.”

Tears trickle down my cheeks, and, with no more control, I cry. On each side, my parents hug me, my mom tucking my hair behind my ear.

“Galing mo, anak,” my dad says gently.

“Maganda. Your photographs, maganda,” my mom says.

“Salamat po,” I sob. “Salamat po.”

“Mahal kita,” they both say.

“Mahal po kita, mahal po kita.”

Epilogue

September

“Authenticity,” I say when Jase holds up a photograph that displays the sunflower-shaped collage above my bed, the word and definition written on the back, “being real and true to who you are.”

“Another perfect round!” Jase says. It feels like Blossoms is celebrating my victory when “Our Summer” by TXT plays from the speakers.

Even though our final SAT exam isn’t until next month, quizzing each other on new vocabulary has become our thing. Jase composes new songs while I take photographs inspired by an SAT word from the chapter we’re studying.

“We still need to warm up and do soundcheck!” Andy calls from the stage.

“Emilyn, stop distracting your boyfriend!” Nora calls beside Andy.

Karthik stands on Nora’s other side, chuckling and shaking his head. The three of them have started a video game team, dragging all of us to their local tournaments. Michael laughs and playfully pushes Andy’s shoulder. Hannah wrinkles her nose to us in a don’t-mind-them way. I thought Nora and I would only have each other, but I’m glad we’ve expanded our duo into a circle of friends.